Hej!
Hade som skoluppgift på engelskan förra året att skriva en novell, och blev faktiskt ganska nöjd(!), så tänkte dela den här
(Den ser ännu kortare ut här... har försökt att ändra de grammatiska fel jag fått syn på, kan hända att det dock finns några slarvfel kvar här och där, men hoppas att det går ändå)
Spoiler:
Tryck här för att visa!Alive
He just stood there. Staring at the waves. The same way he did yesterday. And the day before that. Losing track of time. Waiting for something that would never come back. Or, something everyone else would say was gone forever, if you asked the man, he would say that it would return very soon.
All around him, big waves crashed against the cliffs. The wind grew stronger and stronger for every minute, and in the horristont, you could see a big, massive wall of black clouds rising. In the distance, thunder rumbled. But he could not care less. The cold temperature did not seem to affect him at all. Or maybe, his mind was at another place, far away from all the loneliness.
What is living? A doctor might answer that the definition of living is when your heart is beating and, with help from your lungs, transporting oxygen to different parts of your body, and your brain is sending out small electrical impulses that makes your body move. As long as your body is working you are living, and when your heart stops beating you are dead. A philosopher, on the other hand, might answer that living is more like a feeling. When you find happiness, and something worth living for, you are also alive. Maybe they are both right. Or maybe they are both wrong. Maybe life is nothing more than coincidence. Something that was created in the very beginning, but never meant to exist. But the man on the shore is certain that the philosopher is right, because otherwise, he would still be alive, and he knew he was not. How could something like that be living? It was more like waiting, and waiting without knowing what you are waiting for.
He did not noticed the storm until it raged all around him. But he did not care. Why should he? A few raindrops was nothing compared to what he had gone through. He had seen so much destruction, so much pain, and five years ago, he finally understood that he could take no more. His life had no meaning. His sister, the only one that totally understood him, had died. And he had seen what power could do with humans. And what humans could do with the planet. Everywhere around him there was just ongoing war, and he was tired of that. Everything was simply a mess, and he just wanted some peace. It had seem like a good idea at first, but now, he was not so sure anymore. Right, the life he lived before was filled with horrible things, but at least, he was not alone. He was surrounded with people, and that is something, even if some of them seemed to have no feelings at all.
The man started the long walk back to his cabin. He was old, and his condition was not what it once had been, so when he reached his cabin, every single part of his body hurt. But he just ignored it. He just wanted to come back to the real world. To feel like he was actually alive. He would do anything to see a kindly smile. To hear someone's voice. The only sound he had heard in years was the irritating cries from the birds and the sound from waves crashing at the shore, apart from that, the island was silent. He really wanted to leave, but he had, literally, burnt his only chance to come back to any civilization. Maybe someone was searching for him, but there were not many people who would like him back, and nobody knew where he was anyway, so there was no chance that someone would actually find him.
He walked through the front door, into his warm cabin, and there she was. His long lost sister. He knew it. He knew she would come back to him when no one else did. Her long brown hair in a bun and with a small smile playing on her lips. Her presence spread a warm glow in the otherwise so cold room. Without a word, she held out a hand, the man reached out and took it. In a second, all coldness and darkness was gone, and, maybe, death isn’t the end, but the beginning of a new adventure.
Mugglarportalen